Bittersweet
by HinnyandRomione4ever
Summary: Not sweet and emotional, yet not stale and crumbly. A reunion filled with the unconditional love for one another yet the unrequited loss for one another. A meeting some may call Bittersweet. All rights belong to JK Rowling.


Do you know that feeling you get when you just did something incredibly stupid, but it worked out? You feel like you were just sweating bullets and but, at the same time, you didn't fail? That's how he felt at that very moment. The butterflies in his stomach had been freed, but now there was this not of emptiness, that made the feeling of butterflies feel almost comfortable.

He leaned against the sink and breathed heavily, trying to prevent his hands from shaking. His dirty, scabbed, stinging hands from shaking. He had disappeared after returning the Elder Wand to Dumbledore's tomb, and was hoping that, at least for now, he would be have time to himself.

He ran the tap, listening to the sound of the water trickle against the sink bowl. Finally, he ran his hands under the water. The open cuts on his knuckles stung against the cold water; he clenched his eyes closed until the pain went numb, and then started to rub the dirt away. His dirt splotched hands started to change back to their original pale color, and his fingernails, full of ripped cuticles and dried-bloody hang nails were now starting to change back to their light pink.

His eyes caught themselves in the mirror, green clicked with green and then to the L-shaped gash against the side of his nose. He dared to touch it, and trust me, it stung. So, he removed his glasses and set them back onto the sink's surface. With a white washcloth, he dabbed it, until he felt it was ready to be wiped. The white washcloth retired to a spotted-red, just like him.

He threw the washcloth down into the sink and started the shower. Washing all of the dirt from his calves, arms, hair. Cleaning himself of all of the events of the past night. It was over, but things were about to begin.

He had been focused on one thing. One thing and that's it. One thing had consumed him for years. Now, he had a life to plan. Where was he even going to start?

Harry walked out of the bathroom and into the dormitory he had hidden into. Hopefully no one would disturb him for a few hours, maybe days. He plopped down onto the bed where he had claimed way back when he was eleven. It was nice to finally sleep somewhere where you can't hear the crickets outside, where there wouldn't be those drafts in the air, or that pollen that tickled your nose.

He just wanted to sleep. Sleep and be done with it. Come up with a plan tomorrow, or the next day, but just sleep now.

"Harry?" A soft voice came from the doorway. He cracked his eye open and saw a head of ginger hair.

"Yeah?" He asked, too tired to sit up or move. She walked over to the side of the bed and kneeled down to be eye level with him.

"I just wanted to thank you. You know, for what you did." Her eyes flickered to the ground and she took a gulp of her own saliva. She was sickly pale, thin too. There was an aged scar on her cheek bone under her eye that caught Harry's attention. He rolled on his back and pushed himself to a sitting position. "No, Harry, you don't have to get up; I just wanted to thank you and then leave."

"Where to?" 

She gulped and shrugged, "No where, really."

He scooted over and lifted the cover offering her a spot, "Have a few minutes to spare?" He asked with pleading eyes. She surveyed the spot before giving in and sitting next to him. "Are you okay?" He asked.

"I think so." There were no smiles, no signs of relief, just sorrow, and pain.

"Have you eaten since, you know…"

"Not really; I can't stomach anything down at the moment." She answered, leaning back onto the headboard, "Are you okay?"

"I'm not sure."

"What do you have planned next?"

"I don't know yet."

She looked away surveying the room, "I probably should let you rest." She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. She started to take a step but his hand wrapped around her wrist.

"I'm here for you, Ginny; whatever you need."

She looked at him with sad eyes, "I don't think I'll need that much help, but if you do, you know where to find me."

She left the room and he leaned back onto the headboard. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something, something that could maybe push them into the right direction. He swung his legs over the bed and strided out of the dorm and looked over the balcony to see her walking toward the portrait hole.

"Ginny," she turns around and looks up, "thank you."

"For what?" She asked, confusedly.

"Helping us, even when you didn't mean to."

There's a long pause before she wonders aloud, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I heard the DA has a new leader now. And she kept everyone safe while we were gone." He sent her a small smile, "You're the real hero here."

"Not really, you were the one to win the war. I just manned the fort while you did so."

"That doesn't matter, it's the people who fought in the background who really deserve all of the credit." She smiled up to him and shook her head.

"Go to sleep, Harry." He smiled and watched as she walked out the portrait hole.


End file.
